The Tuscan Tycoon’s Wife

then?’

‘I’m twenty-six.’

‘And when was all this ancient history?’

‘I’ve been looking after myself since I was fourteen.’

‘Shouldn’t you have been at school?’

Another shrug. ‘I suppose.’

‘What happened to your parents?’

After a few moment’s silence she said, ‘I was raised in a home, several actually.’

‘You mean you’re an orphan?’

‘Probably not. Nobody knew who my father was. Not sure even my mom knew that. All I really knew about her was that she was just a kid herself when she had me, couldn’t cope, put me in a home. I expect she meant to come back for me, but things got too much for her.’ Selena took another swig.

‘And what then?’ Leo asked, in the grip of an appalled fascination.

‘Foster homes.’

‘Homes? Plural?’

‘The first one was OK. That’s where I found out about horses. After that I knew whatever I did it had to be with horses. But the old man died and the stock got sold off and I was sent somewhere else. That was bad. The food was rotten and I was cheap labour, kept off from school because they were too mean to pay an extra hand. I told them where they could stick it and they sent me packing. Said I was “out of control”. Which was true. In a pig’s ear I was going to let them control me.’

‘But aren’t there laws to protect kids in this situation?’

She looked at him as if he was crazy.

‘Of course there are laws,’ she said patiently. ‘And inspectors to see that the laws are followed.’

‘So?’

‘So bad things happen anyway. Some of the inspectors are decent people, but they get swamped. There’s just too much to do. And some of them just see what they want to see because that way they finish work early.’

She spoke lightly, without bitterness, like someone describing life on another planet. Leo was aghast. His own existence in Italy, a country where family ties were still stronger than almost anywhere else, seemed like paradise in comparison.

‘What happened after that?’ he asked, in a daze.

She shrugged again and he realised how eloquent her shrugs were, each one seeming to contain a whole speech.

‘A new foster home, no different. I ran away, got caught and sent back to the institution, and after a while there was another foster home. That lasted three weeks.’

‘What then?’ he asked, for she’d fallen silent again.

‘This time I made sure they didn’t catch me. I was fourteen and could pass for sixteen. I don’t suppose they looked for me long. You know, this steak is really good.’

He accepted her change of subject without protest. Why should she want to discuss her life if it had been like that?

CHAPTER THREE

NOW that her fear for Elliot had been eased Selena was growing more relaxed, exuding an air of taking life as it came that Leo guessed was more normal with her.

‘Have you and Elliot been together long?’ he asked.

‘Five years. I got some work doing odd jobs about the rodeos, and bought him cheap from a guy who owed me money. He reckoned Elliot’s career was over, but I thought he still had good things in him if he was treated right. And I do treat him right.’

‘I guess he appreciates that,’ Leo said as she rose and went to fondle Elliot’s nose. The horse pressed forward to her.

He rose too and began to stroll along the stalls, looking in at the animals, who gazed back, peaceful, beautiful, almost seeming to glow in the dim light.

‘You know about horses,’ Selena asked, joining him. ‘I could tell.’

‘I breed a few, back home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Italy.’

‘Then you really are a foreigner.’

He grinned. ‘Couldn’t you tell by my “funny accent”?’

She gave a sudden blazing grin. ‘It’s not as funny as some I’ve heard.’

It was as though the sun had come up with her smile. Wanting to make her laugh, Leo went into a clowning version of Italian. Seizing her hand he kissed the back and crooned theatrically,

‘Bella signorina, letta me tell you abouta my country. In Eeetaly we know ’ow to appreciate a beautiful lai-ee-dy.’

She stared, more flabbergasted than impressed.

‘You talk like that in Italy?’

‘No, of course not,’ he said, reverting to his normal voice. ‘But when we’re abroad it’s how we’re expected to talk.’

‘Only by folk who need their heads examined.’

‘Well, I meet a lot of them. Most people’s ideas about Italians come straight out of cliche. We’re not all bottom pinchers.’

‘No, you just wink at women on the highway.’

‘Who does?’

‘You do. Did. When Mr Hanworth’s car passed me, I saw you looking at me, and you winked.’

‘Only because you winked first.’

‘I did not,’ she said, up in arms.

‘You did.’

‘I did not.’

‘I saw you.’

‘It was a trick of the light. I do not wink at strange men.’

‘And I don’t wink at strange women-unless they wink at me first.’

Suddenly she began to laugh, just as he’d wanted her to, and the sun came out again. He took her hand and led her back to the bale where they’d been sitting, and they clinked beer cans.

‘Tell me about your home,’ she said. ‘Where in Italy?’

‘Tuscany, the northern part, near the coast. I have a farm, breed some horses, grow some grapes. Ride in the rodeo.’

‘Rodeo? In Italy? You’re kidding me.’

‘No way! We have a little town called Grosseto, which has a rodeo every year, complete with a parade through the town. There’s a building there with walls covered with photos of the local “cowboys”. Until I was six I thought all cowboys were Italian. When my cousin Marco told me they came from the States I called him a liar. We had to be separated by our parents.’

He paused, for she was choking with laughter.

‘In the end,’ he said, ‘I had to come and see the real thing.’

‘Got any family, apart from your cousin?’

‘Some. Not a wife. I live alone except for Gina.’

‘She’s a live-in girlfriend?’

‘No, she’s over fifty. She cooks and cleans and makes dire predictions about how I’ll never find a wife because no younger woman will put up with that draughty building.’